Lydia stood frozen behind the door. Her breath came out in little uneven gasps as her ear pressed lightly against the wood. The music poured through the crack like water seeping through stone. It was not loud, not sharp, but soft. It was fragile, trembling, almost breaking.
It was not a song she knew. She knew many tunes written by musicians. But this one she had never heard before. Never. The melody carried tiny flaws here and there, a finger slipping, a pause slightly too long. She could tell it wasn't being played by a professional. That whoever was playing it wasn't exactly skilled at piano. Yet the sound was tender. So tender. The notes wrapped around her chest, tugging on places she thought were long buried. It was painful. Almost too painful to listen to. Like whoever was playing where bleeding on the inside.
